The Pull
by The Readers Muse
Summary: He sensed the beats between the breaths as the fabric of Daryl's gag creaked – straining. Shoulders brushing against his like words unsaid. Sensing more than seeing the way the man was pushing and snarling just underneath his skin.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** Written in response to a lovely anon request for some Darlenn soul-bond/soulmate fic. I haven't written Darlenn in about five million years, so yeah. *****This storybasically takes off after we see Daryl and Glenn, side by side and gagged in Terminus and is true to canon till just after 5x01's opening credits. This fic will differ a bit in terms of timing issues and how things exactly went down between getting free of their bonds and escaping Terminus.

**Warnings:** This story will touch on elements of the soul mate/fated love/one love bond trope, only this one is a bit different. Centering around the idea that one can only recognize their soul mate upon skin to skin contact. In my version of the trope, the couple experiences what is known as 'the pull' a period of intense emotional, physical and sexual desire that is both irresistible and impossible to avoid no matter the circumstances. *****Contains: possible dub-con, animal mannerisms, adult language, adult content, sexual content, slash, deals with vague aspects of past abuse (childhood and adult), violence, gore, relationship issues dealing chiefly with infidelity, ie: the fact that Glenn and Maggie are married and Daryl and Carol have an 'almost thing,' plus the usual emotional baggage.

**The Pull**

_**Chapter One**_

"_I remember you. Yeah. You're the sneaky one, the one with nerve. You don't scare easy, do you? I like that."_

It was messed up, but that was what'd been going through his mind when the thin little guy beside him pissed himself. Flooding the air with the harsh tang of fresh urine, a strange accompaniment to the flash of floppy brown hair - swaying this way and that - as they cut the throat of the third man in line at the trough.

That was all he got. No Maggie. None of his high school crushes. _Nothing._ Not even the after-images of his parents. Just the acrid sting of sweat and camera-quick flashes of overexposed stainless steel and flowing red as Merle's words came back to haunt him.

It was unfair. And frankly, pretty darn telling when you considered how fucked up the world had to be for it to be _Merle_, of all people, who he was dwelling on. He shook his head, fists clenching around the plastic straps as they bit deep across the inside of his wrists. He couldn't stop himself from yanking at them - ripping at his own skin. Doing little to ease his current reality as the reel of Merle's stupid smirk flared out across his closed eyelids. Following him around like the shitty aftertaste of stale beer and that container of week old take-out you had to hype yourself up to take a chance on when your fridge was _that_ empty and you didn't get paid for another three days.

The worst part was the way the bodies – no – _the people_ kept moving afterwards, twitching and lurching as the blood gurgled and spat. Spraying out across the basin in a mist of red as half formed cries and wordless syllables of sound echoed horrifically. Because that was the real kicker, wasn't it? They were still alive. Still moving. Still screaming. Their brains just hadn't caught up with the rest of them yet.

Somewhere in his mind's eye, Merle laughed – cackling and cruel - taunting him with the memories of a strength that seemed to have deserted him. Vanishing like moisture hissing across glowing coals, a stark contrast to the sluggish tide of red surging down the metal trough towards him as Daryl breathed hard through his nose beside him, shivering and angry.

"_Now… I wanna know where my brother is. I wanna know where the sheriff is. I wanna know where they're hiding, where your camp is, and I wanna know now. Where the hell are they? Tell me…"_

It made him wonder – trembling and sweating and barely holding it together as the bat connected with the head of the man next to him - if that was what his English professor would've called a cruel irony.

Considering that Merle hadn't lived long enough to see just how wrong he really was.

* * *

"You have two hours to get them on the driers. Then we go back to public face. Now's the time we can get messy, but we need to dial it all in by sundown."

He had his eyes closed again. Teeth sunk so deep into the gag that his gums hurt. So tense that he didn't even hear the first gunshot. Or the second.

"Hey, Chuck?"

But he still felt the change in the air when the man behind him raised his bat. Sensing the smaller one, the one with the ski-goggles and hyper expression, shifting excitedly. Plastic apron like nails on a chalkboard as the fabric rubbed together – high-pitched and cringey – as he bounced in place.

He sensed the beats between the breaths as the fabric of Daryl's gag creaked – _straining_. Shoulders brushing against his like words unsaid. Sensing more than seeing the way the man was pushing and snarling just underneath his skin. Too busy dealing with his own problems as a scream lodged itself deep in the back of his throat and stuck there.

He wasn't sure what to do with the sudden surge of hysteria when he considered what might happen if that scream found its way to open air. Throat tightening – choking and thick – as he thought about what would happen when the blade split him open. Laying him clean from the inside out as everything he'd held back, everything he hadn't been able to force himself to say came tumbling out.

He muffled a sound through the gag – a cry – a huff of air - maybe a laugh when the third shot rang out. Eyes blowing open, uncertain if that was good or bad as Daryl shuddered. Working himself up towards what sounded like a full blown panic attack as the man behind him raised the bat for the last time and-

That was when the world outside just fucking _exploded_.

* * *

They were still picking themselves off the floor when it happened. When Rick cut the zip-ties around his wrists and he surged down to yank at the ones around Daryl's ankles, pulling ineffectually until Rick got the first set open and passed him the shard of wood to deal with the rest.

Daryl sprang up like something half-feral and on the wrong side of tamed. The whites of his eyes wide and blood-shot as he spat out the gag and caught his hand in his own, yanking him upright – rough and sloppy – so that when his knees ricocheted against the floor, he rebounded into the curve of his chest. Temporarily weightless in a personal ecosystem of stale breaths and worn leather as Daryl's hand tightened, absorbing his weight with a grunt. Heart going a mile a minute before-

_-oh._

A year could pass and he still wouldn't know how to describe it. It was static, an explosion. It was the universe folding back. It was dancing outside of your own skin – careless and free for the first time. It was stillness - _being_. It was a thousand things he didn't know how to pronounce. Adjectives and verbs he was pretty sure had been hammered into him during middle school that were now lost to him, right when he needed them.

But then, just as quickly, it narrowed down. Simplifying itself into baser things. Concepts and impressions that were easy and simple to understand as the flesh underneath his skin prickled and flushed. He bared his teeth, all primitive drives and barely-there awareness as his body flooded through. Preparing itself for the joining without even a ripple of uncertainty as he fought against the urge to just run at him.

_His one._

He arched, aware of the provocativeness of the display. Watching his one through the fan of his lashes as Daryl hissed in response, gravelly and loud in a way that made him want to bend his neck. But it was a strange thing. For unlike in the animal kingdom, where a hierarchy of dominants and submissives made up the group order, the pull was a mating – _no, a connection_ \- of a far more equal order.

It was a matching of equals, a coming together of twinned souls that initially manifested itself in a language that no one, not even humans, could mistake. For as much as he wanted to drop low, desperate to please - belly up and whining – another just as strong part wanted to demand the same.

To pin Daryl down right there on that filthy concrete floor and cover him with every inch of skin he had to give. To scent him clean and chuff comfortingly into the hollow of his neck. Marking him so fully that no one would ever so much as even _look _at him again. So that everyone would know, like a neon sign during the darkest night, that he was his. That Daryl was his. That he'd _always_ been his.

_Want._

_Need._

_Desire._

_Belonging._

_Dang-gyeo_

_The Pull._

"They've got problems, we've got a chance," Rick shouted, distant and unimportant despite a niggling little voice in that back of his head that told him he should be listening. That it was probably important. That there were others counting on them as Bob untangled himself from the floor and popped up beside Rick.

"What the hell are these people?!" Bob gritted, anger and disbelief chief on his features. Forcing him to blink to keep them in focus as Daryl loomed over him, closing in, expression a strange mix of awe and terror as the instinct to come together – to take and cherish and protect - screamed right down to the very soul of him.

"Daryl, what-"

He jerked back, mouth falling open, tasting laughter on the air as the hairs on the back of his neck tingled and flared. Unmistakable and heady as Daryl stumbled back, curling into himself, shoulders hunched - protective. Eyes glittering underneath his fringe, accusatory and wanting as the world condensed and the sound of the others yelling, tugging and pulling at them finally seemed to register.

"Glenn, are you-"

He blushed scarlet, whether in embarrassment or the other thing, he didn't know. _Probably both_. Either way, it didn't matter. The deranged fog had receded slightly, peeling away to flood his senses with the taint of blood and fear. Helping him regain enough of himself to realize that Rick and Bob were staring at them uncertainly.

_Jesus Christ, Daryl Dixon? Of all people?_

_It felt like a fucking pot-shot from the universe._

_For fucks sake, this was his life?!_

The worry and confusion on Rick's face he could handle. He knew how to handle all of that. How to deflect and tease and make a quick exit on stage left. But it was the dawning spread of realization that had started to flood across Bob's face that pounded everything home.

Everything that _had _happened.

Everything that _was_ happening.

Everything he wouldn't be able to stop, even if he _wanted_ to.

He let go of an embarrassing keen in favor of words. Bashful and practically gagging for it in a way that made no sense, especially when he snapped his mouth shut. Forcing the sound to cut off, warbling unattractively. Because he could actually_ see_ the outline of Daryl's dick pressing against his zipper – already hard like his own – _twitching _visibly at the sound.

A beat passed. Then another. Feeling the weight of their stares like a vice grip in his chest until Daryl, who - _bless him_ \- seemed determined to out embarrass him, causing a minor distraction by nearly keeling clean over in shock. Stumbling backwards like he expected something behind him to hold him up – flailing and choking through a strangled noise as Bob flicked a brow – concerned but wary.

It would have been hysterical if they were _anywhere_ but here. If they weren't surrounded by cut throats still drizzling slowly. If they weren't stuck breathing in the smell of bleach and cold iron and he wasn't vibrating with the realization that he was going to have to re-evaluate his entire life in thirty seconds or less.

_Woulda._

_Coulda._

_Shoulda._

"We have to get out of here, this isn't the time to-" Rick started, words punctuated by a burst of gunfire from outside. He sucked in a breath when Rick started towards him, one hand out, eyes determined like all they needed was a good shake and they'd be able curb it for long enough to rescue the others and make for the treeline.

But weirdly enough, that was what brought it back. What ramped the pull, the desperate all-consuming need he was feeling from navel to soul, right back up to a roiling fever-heat burning just underneath his skin.

He trembled. Fighting every inch that was screaming for him to claim and take when he looked up and found Daryl painfully – _unrepentantly_ \- close. Panting like a dog in heat as Rick took a careful step out from between them. Finally seeming to realize he was in a precarious position as Bob placed a careful hand on his shoulder, shaking his head and firming his grip when Rick tried to shrug it off. Watching the two of them closely, a mix of recognition and growing sympathy as a frightened scream issued from just outside. It was the only warning they got before another spattering of bullets ricocheted off the metal siding on the other side of the building.

Somewhere beyond the haze, he spared a second to wonder if that was something Bob had learned in the Army, or if it was just common sense. Because despite the gritty reality of it, most of the world seemed to focus on the romantic version of the joining. Waxing poetic about how blessed you were to have found your one. How lucky you were to be among the few that found each other. To have that connection, that bond that was deeper – _more_ – than anything else out there.

_Well, he didn't feel lucky._

_He felt manic. Insane._

_Five seconds from just fucking losing it if Daryl didn't-_

"Go," Daryl grunted, gritting his teeth as he curled a calloused palm around the jut of his shoulder, squeezing down hard and forcing the words out like just saying them was the hardest thing he'd ever done. "Get the others."

"We'll catch up," he stuttered throwing the words over both their shoulders as Daryl started towing him towards the nearest door – desperate and uncaring of their audience as he ground his hips into the plush of his ass. Not sure who was pushing who in the end as he wrestled Daryl in front of him, hands tugging at his clothes in his need to discover bare skin.

"But-" Rick started, fingers twisting around the hilt of the knife he'd lifted from one of the side tables. Cut off before he could get any further when Bob nodded, taking the initiative and herding Rick towards the side door and into the blinding mid-day sun.

"Give them some space, Rick," he urged, orange shirt flickering out like a ratty looking flare. "Com'on we'll get the others out then come back for them. This isn't something we can stop. Besides, they are going to need us when this is over."

He caught a glimpse of Rick's face just before the door slammed shut.

He didn't have to think too hard to imagine the look on Maggie's when he told her.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be two more chapters, stay tuned!

**Reference: **

* dang-gyeo: Loose Korean translation for "the pull" – technically just "pull" as apparently the Korean language doesn't have a word for "the". So, just pretend my Google translate skills are worth something, okay?

* Thank you to gunslingerdixon for providing me with the Merle dialogue from season three.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** Written in response to a lovely anon request for some Darlenn soul-bond/soulmate fic. Please see first chapter for a more complete explanations and warnings.

**Warnings:** Contains possible dub-con, animal mannerisms, adult language, adult content, sexual content: slash, oral, anal fingering, mutual masturbation, etc. Also deals with vague aspects of past abuse (childhood and adult), violence, gore, relationship issues dealing chiefly with infidelity, ie: the fact that Glenn and Maggie are married and Daryl and Carol have an 'almost thing' plus the usual emotional baggage.

**The Pull**

_**Chapter Two**_

His back hit the wall with a bruising thud. Sending all the shit hanging on hooks across the length of the restaurant grade stainless steel counter clattering to the floor.

He cursed, head ringing, fingers dancing away from a suspicious looking chunk of s_omething _currently burning in a fast-fryer. Boot skidding out as he twisted on his heel, snapping the handle of a flimsy looking wooden spatula, teeth bared in warning as Daryl pressed himself up against the door. Eyes never once leaving his as he slammed the lock home with a click that went bone deep – frightening and final.

And while this was rapidly turning into his own personal apocalypse, he couldn't quite stop himself from lingering on it. _Yes, apparently he was a sadist today. _Because really, wasn't it just his luck that his soul mate would show up to the party just a few years too late?

_What about Maggie. He loved Maggie. He-_

The moment lengthened. And as if he could sense his thoughts, Daryl remained in place, eyes animal cautious and fragile as his fierce expression slowly guttered itself. Hunching over so that his face was protected by the corner shadows. But what Daryl did show said more than enough. Uncertain of what to do with the muted burst of clarity when he realized that Daryl looked just as uncertain and torn as he was.

The guilt was almost suffocating.

He closed his eyes, hating himself just a little bit more as he balled his fists and kept his feet planted. Hanging onto that last thin little tendril of self-control as he wrestled his thoughts into something that made at least half-sense. He'd been so focused on himself, on what _he _stood to lose that he hadn't even considered-

"…Glenn, I ain't-I don't-" Daryl started – voice wrecked and trembling – the words themselves halting and shocking in their own right. Making him wonder how much it had cost him to force them out. By all rights, the two of them should have been sub-verbal by now. Lost in the pull and uncaring of the consequences as every inborn instinct they had pulled and screamed.

He'd never heard of someone exacting this much control so far into the pull.

It wasn't something you fought, after all. It wasn't meant to be fought. Like nature itself, it was unapologetic - unsympathetic. It could care less about the life you wanted - the life you had. It was a primal desire that acted without either of their conscious permissions. Like it or leave it, it was the universe's way of making sure things ended up the way they were supposed to. They'd have better luck fighting gravity.

"It's okay," he rasped.

It wasn't.

But someday it probably would be.

_He knew it would be._

Everything was different now.

He could feel that.

He knew that.

It wasn't about what he wanted. It was about what he needed. What _they _needed.

Everything else would come in time.

He sensed the moment when clarity fled. When the dangerous, needy lilt returned to color Daryl's unsteady pants. His skin prickled, the air around his head thickening, getting harder and harder to breathe as his nostrils flared. Tasting the air as Daryl's hip cocked, posturing with a similar, yet completely different sort of challenge. Something that carded through the air like a smirk. Like he was urging him on, just under his breath, like - _just try it and see_ _what happens - _and hell, if he wasn't going to rise to the bait.

_Two souls dancing without either of them moving._

It was an admission without words that roared furiously through his veins, making him take a step forward – aggressive - desperate to show his worth as his mate shifted by the door, growling softly. Looking about one second from just-

He cursed. Pitching and guttural as Daryl slammed him back up against the wall. Hands tangling in his hair, firming around stringy sable as the man wrenched his head back and buried his face into the crook of his neck. Hungry and desperate as the inhales gusted across his skin like individual tremors. An object once in motion, staying in motion as their hips grinded together shamelessly. Chasing the friction as he fisted the man's collar and snarled.

_Yes._

_This was what he'd been missing._

_What he'd been searching for – yearning for – his entire god damned life._

The man smelt like blood and sweat and metal shavings and he kinda wanted to do something completely disgusting like lick it off or fall to his knees. Digging his face into the crease where torso met thigh and just breathe for the rest of his life.

He yanked at the sleeves of the leather jacket, forcing it off, inch by inch as Daryl caught him by the soft of the throat and forced his head to tilt. Clearing the way for him to trail a line of sucking bites across the ivory-pale of his neck.

A choked sound left his lips, eyes fluttering shut as Daryl's free hand ripped at the button of his jeans. Squirming under the elastic of his boxers to palm his cock with a torturous burst of pleasure that had him biting down on the man's lip hard enough to flood red all the way down the corners.

"Gae saeki! Shibal…Jesus chri- _Daryl!" _he grunted, letting go of a jumbled mish-mash of words that might have been English, but probably not all of them. Too caught up in the desperate way Daryl was fisting his cock. Twisting on the downturn and thumbing the crown, from weeping tip to flared head – _exactly how he liked_ – as he tried to remember what breathing was and how to go about filling his lungs with something more than the series of embarrassing guttural noises the man was pulling out of him every time his thumb slicked through the pre-cum already pooling on the head.

But far from being put off, Daryl just fucking _melted_ into him.

He wasn't sure which of them were more surprised when their lips brushed. Delicate and chaste and unsure for less than a heartbeat before he was surging forward. Claiming his one's lips as he teased the plush of the lower. Licking at the blood that still wept from where he'd sunk his teeth in only a few seconds before.

_Jen-jang!_

He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, beat his head in or kiss him stupid. So, instead, he settled on digging his shoulder into the man's ribcage. Slamming him back against the piling in favor of hissing out a desperate snarl as Daryl fell back, exposing the sweaty span of his nape that seemed just about perfect, so he sunk his teeth into it. Pulling and nipping and digging in with blunt nails as Daryl went weak at the knees.

It was an odd feeling, trying to grind himself into the man's thigh as Daryl kept fisting his cock. Like he was being pulled right out of his skin as he forced off the leather jacket and attacked the seams of Daryl's rank smelling button up. The look he got when he gave up on fine motor control and actually tore the stupid thing clear in half was enough to send a knot of heat coiling deep in his belly.

He was panting hard as he tossed his prize off to the side and ran a hand – sweaty and fever-warm – from chest to navel. Hissing audibly as the man's hardness jerked against his own, separated by only a few centimetres of filthy cloth and absolutely zero excuses.

He had about five seconds of advantage before the jerk got handsy.

He arched – keening - when Daryl's stubble burned across the span of his ribs, wicked teeth grazing a nipple as he forced himself to keep moving into the man's hand. Setting a punishing rhythm that had them both gasping as he kept his seat astride the man's hips out of pure stubbornness. But it was not enough and they both knew it. Even now he could feel it. Feel his limbs shaking, weakening, desperate and coiling with a strength he didn't know he needed until Daryl caught him off guard and rolled them. Grinding him furiously into the wall as the air above their heads grew thick with half-uttered curses and the taint of their own sweat.

_He needed-_

He wondered if it was different for other people. Normal people that didn't already live a few inches shy of feral on any given day. People who weren't angry, desperate and heart sick all the time. Because he _wanted_ to hurt. To be hurt. Just as much as he wanted to soothe and remake. He _wanted_ to hate him. Hate himself. Just as much as part of him couldn't stand the thought of it.

He was angry because he'd made peace with it. Peace with the fact that he'd never find his one. He'd started making a life for himself with Maggie. Their love was real and honest and had been built from the ground up. Not ordained by some stupid, unseen force that decided who deserved who or whatever the hell it actually did. He was angry that they hadn't figured this out on their own, years ago. Angry of what he'd been robbed of when Daryl had been right in front of him this entire god damned time. Angry that-

The pads of his fingers slicked through sweaty hair, pulling a remarkably soft sounding croon – _content, belonging, his _– from Daryl's lips as he finally got the man's cock free and rubbed it jerkily against his own.

_Yes. Fuck. Again._

His heart was thudding madly in his chest, forcing him to concentrate on taking in one breath at a time. He set his teeth into the bare curve of the man's shoulder when Daryl's palm found his, wrapping both hands around their pricks so they could move together. The arousal that lived there, rippling and pooling between them, hazed through him like wildfire. Building as their palms bumped together, finding and losing the rhythm again and again as Daryl growled into the press, letting go of half formed bursts of sound that only made the animal inside hiss and arch. Demanding more and more until the roaring in his ears muted the gunfire and yells still issuing outside.

Unable to stop himself from thinking, even then, that for an emotionally repressed asshole Daryl actually seemed to have half a clue what he was doing. Which, quite frankly, was awesome because that mean that at least _one_ of them did.

He stilled, almost lost to it, when the blunt of Daryl's nail caught on his frenulum. Tugging at it mercilessly –_ deliberately_ – as every muscle he didn't realize he had twitched in response. He was half sure that the noise that came out of his mouth wasn't even human. It was pleasure-wrecked and rattling. Like his subconscious was gargling rocks as Daryl mouthed curses, pleads, encouragements - even his name - into the spot just behind his left ear that he hadn't realized was so sensitive until Daryl was laving at it with his tongue. Attacking vein-latticed skin with too sharp teeth and the type of finesse that spoke more of enthusiasm than experience.

He nearly keeled over when Daryl tore himself away unexpectedly. Leaving him scrabbling at empty air as the separation jolted a harsh negative out of him. He gasped, choking on the breath he was trying to pull in as Daryl growled, dancing just out of reach.

He let go of an unfettered sound, needy and writhing as Daryl's expression kept him in place. He was on fire. Every bared inch of him burned, as hot as blood, hotter than anything he'd ever felt. He bit his lip, blinking at the cloying haze ringing the edge of his vision as Daryl eyed him darkly. Bare-chested and unconscious in his arousal as the man palmed his cock roughly.

The voice in the back of his head was whispering again. Unable to help himself from salivating as he watched the pink head blur underneath the man's fist. Nearly strangled in his grip before Daryl hissed, catching himself on the side of his zipper and pulled himself clear of his jeans. Displaying himself proudly, balls drawn up tight as he struggled to stay upright as the man circled him slowly – predatory and playful.

_Shit, even the distance between them hurt._

And it did. It wasn't a metaphor or an over exaggeration. Every moment Daryl wasn't pressed against him – owning him – was akin to the lancing throb of an open wound. It was need in its most basic form. All consuming and completely without mercy and he didn't know if he could stand it if one of them didn't break and-

"Daryl, can you-_nnnerghaaa_!"

The pain faded the moment Daryl's mouth closed around him, replaced by a languid roll of something he couldn't identify at first. It soothed him, stilling his restless limbs, spreading like winter-run off pooling around a clogged grate. And Daryl – _fuck him_ – Daryl just looked up at him through the fan of his lashes. Mouth stretched obscenely around his cock in a way that had him groaning. Hips jerking like he just couldn't help himself.

The hands on his hips burned like a brand, keeping him in place as Daryl dipped back. Tonguing the crown and tracing the seam of him before swallowing him back down. Huffing into the tangle of black hair at his groin as he buried his hands in the man's long hair and _tugged_. Encouraging a rhythm out of him as Daryl swirled his tongue and sucked him like a pro.

The pleasure was potent. It was intimate and wondering and impossible in every way he hadn't realized he needed until his upstairs brain finally caught the clue bus and realized that Daryl was _right _there, on his fucking _knees_ in front of him. Grinding himself shamelessly into the trembling curve of his thigh as his pants finally lost their fight with gravity and pooled around his ankles.

_He wasn't going to last. He was so close. He was going to-_

Later, when all this was over and he was left trying to pick up the pieces of the life he'd started creating for himself, he would probably think about all the things this was _supposed _to be. They were taught from a young age that the pull wasn't something to be ashamed of. It was simple biology. The way your body recognized the meeting of your one.

Even with social media and those new-age testing centers, it was still considered rare. Rare enough that it was talked about pretty much twenty-four seven before everything fell apart. The world had an innate fascination with the pull. Whether it was some new study or a quick news story about some desperate coupling that occurred in the subway. Grainy footage of the pair stuck on a train as cameras flashed before the feed switched back to the smiling reporter with their bleached teeth and indulgent expression. Wrapping everything up with a quick sound bite and picture perfect snap-shot of the start of a happy new life as the two culprits smiled bashfully for the camera.

There were entire branches of science devoted to understanding how it worked. Movies. Book. Religions. University courses. Politics. You name it. It affected almost every aspect of daily life and for some reason barely anyone questioned the idea that it could be anything _other _than the best thing that could ever happen to you.

He bared his teeth, head tipping back. Letting himself feel it even as a tint of anger rose up in his throat like bile. Hands clenching and unclenching in Daryl's hair as he bobbled up and down - nails digging into the curve of his ass to keep him in place as his hips tried their best to shove his cock halfway down the man's throat.

All the movies, all stories, articles – hell, even the fucking scientific studies were full of shit. He didn't feel contentment or peace. He felt _ravenous_ \- insane. He needed. _Oh god, did he need. _But that was the catch, wasn't it? Because it wasn't the good kind of need. It was the kind that got you locked up in one of those little padded rooms with the sound proofing and the coarse, off-white straight-jackets.

It was the kind of need that gave way to broken desperation waiting in the wings. To the knowledge that you'd do just about anything – _agree to anything _– just to make it all stop. To dull the cacophony back down to a manageable volume and try to make sense of just how much the world had gone and changed on you.

_It wasn't a fucking fairy tale. _

Instead, what he got was _this_. Confusion and panic and about five different shades of desire as he struggled with the realization that only Daryl's hands could make it right. Trying and failing to remember how it felt to breathe without the man taking up all the air. Lost to the question of how he'd survived his entire god damned life without the musky rasp of Daryl's tongue flirting with the points of his teeth before dipping down to carve a hole through his lower lip. Forcing him to swallow his own red, messy and slick as every inch of him screamed for more.

More.

More.

_More._

It would never be enough. He knew that now.

They were stuck with each other.

Too in tune to separate as twinned souls settled in to stay.

He could feel it happening. Digging roots, as Daryl's name left his lips like a misguided prayer.

It seemed like a sardonic swan song to his life - apathetic and final - before Daryl wrenched himself up. Lips spit-slick and shiny, connected to the head of his dick by a thin string of saliva before he staggered to his feet, huffing into the curl of his neck. Pushing him flat against the wall again as thick fingers traced the seam of his cleft, curious and wanting but strangely skittish at the same time.

The staggered wheeze of his own pants sounded winded as the man squeezed his ass, palming his cheeks and spreading them roughly as something in the back of his brain sparked in instinctual agreement.

And wow,_ okay_ – so, wait…_what?_

He'd never and he was about one hundred million percent sure Daryl hadn't either, so-

His thoughts stuttered to a stop when Daryl's prick dragged against his thigh – sticky and drooling pre-cum from the tip – as he hefted him up onto the counter one-handed with a display of strength that made his mouth go dry. And suddenly it was the most perfect idea ever.

He couldn't help the whimper when Daryl reached behind him, rummaging quickly through the containers that lined the wall at his back before he hummed in triumph. Hooking a jug of cooking oil with the crook of his thumb. Almost upending the entire thing in his haste to get the lid unscrewed.

It was only when he'd slicked his fingers, golden rivulets trickling sluggishly towards the curve of his elbow that Daryl looked up, feverish eyes lingering significantly before cocking his head in silent question.

"Yes…" He nodded, overeager and almost violent as Daryl's free hand drifted back down to the jug, tipping it so that a fine stream drizzled down his crack. The sensation somewhere in between anticipation and discomfort as his lashes fluttered. "I, oh- _yes_."

He nearly swallowed his own tongue, carving welts with his nails into the curve of the man's shoulders when Daryl circled his hole. Muscles seizing unexpectedly as nervous pleasure sparked in time with the weird chill of the oil against his skin. Not sure what to make of it when Daryl chuffed a laugh into his skin, currying the air with the backwash of a dozen shards of emotion. Each one touching down like something physical.

Daryl's lips were greedy as he surged up and caught him by the mouth, free hand pinching his chin as he brought him down where he wanted him and hooked him close. Distracting him from the strangeness of it as the tip of his finger started to work him open.

He hissed, wordless. Throat clicking with a sudden dryness as Daryl kept him spread – open and vulnerable as he swirled the digit carefully. Forcing him to relax, inch by inch as soft grunts of encouragement gradually permeated through the haze.

He still hadn't recovered from the shock of it, still fielding the aftershocks from the odd stretching burn, when the man went back to fisting his cock. The dual sensations making him arc as Daryl's finger crooked inside – searching.

He caught sight of their reflection in the stainless steel. Seeing everything bared as Daryl pressed a kiss into the dip of his shoulder. Dark eyes alive with want and the gentle swell of utter satisfaction as he coaxed him into motion. Watching him move in time with the curl of his palm as what was left of the oil slicked across his cock with an obscene sounding squelch that had him keening into the man's lips. Uncaring of how it looked as he rutted back and forth – ass burning – wanting more. Wanting everything Daryl had to give as he pinned himself up against the grease hood like he weighed less than nothing.

Riding out the sore pleasure of it as one finger became two and Daryl's rhythm around his cock stuttered, growling into the press of his chest as he fumbled with the oil. Cussing out a blue streak as both fingers curled inside him, scissoring him wide in a way that made him struggle to find words to put beside the feeling. Trying and failing to find anything to compare as flares of overexposure blinded him from the inside out.

_It felt like the missing piece. _

_Like coming home._

_Like-_

He howled. There was no other word for it. Body seizing tight when the pad of Daryl's finger found that little bundle of nerves he'd only ever heard about before now.

"There 'ya are…" Daryl rumbled, pleased. Licking a messy stripe up the pale of his throat, teeth grazing the tendons as he kept him pinned to the counter, refusing to budge even an inch as he tried his best to thrash clear off the stainless steel. Brain still working on the _too-much-too-good-can't-handle-it _form of cognitive processing as Daryl worked the little nub mercilessly.

His heart was a muscle - _elastic _\- expanding and contracting beyond his body's ability to hold it as he lost it completely. He wasn't ready for it when the pleasure slammed through him. Centering on that sparking spot deep inside before he was throwing his head back in real time, screaming soundlessly as Daryl slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Give it up. _Yes, co'mon._ Jesus fuckin- _Glenn!"_

His pleasure peaked like a white out across the plains. Like one long frightening climax he was half sure was going to kill them both as Daryl froze. Hips stuttering against the plush of his ass – struggling with the tail-end of a pleasured cry - before the world shuddered open and completion came flooding in.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter, please stay tuned.

**Reference:**

*Gae saeki: "son of a bitch."

*Shibal: "fuck."

*Jen-jang: "shit."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** Written in response to a lovely anon request for some Darlenn soul-bond/soulmate fic. Please see first chapter for a more complete explanations and warnings.

**Warnings:** Contains possible dub-con, animal mannerisms, adult language, adult content, sexual content, slash, deals with vague aspects of past abuse (childhood and adult), violence, gore, relationship issues dealing chiefly with infidelity: ie the fact that Glenn and Maggie are married and Daryl and Carol have a 'almost thing' plus the usual emotional baggage.

**The Pull**

_**Chapter Three**_

He didn't realize he'd passed out until he opened his eyes and found himself face to face with crinkled eyes and a serious expression. He blinked, hair all over the place, still splayed across the span of Daryl's chest - sticky, slick and cold now that the heat had tapered off and the chill of the floor started seeping in.

Daryl just blinked back. Saying nothing, _doing nothing_. Nothing save for looking up at him in that way he did, coarse and uncertain through the cover of his fringe. Looking for all the world like he was waiting on him to make the first move. To smooth everything over with some snarky comment or overly gushy gesture that would turn this whole clusterfuck back into something they were more cut out to handle.

Instead, he just wriggled. Holding back a wince - feeling the rise of unformed bruises puffing up just underneath his skin – as he planted his hands on either side of them and reared himself upright. His teeth caught on the inside of his lip as the action caused their pricks - soft and sated – to twitch at the cum-slicked friction.

Daryl hissed in warning, cheeks flushing as his dick jerked – _overeager_.

Afraid to move, he just- _well_, sort of sat there. Watching Daryl watch him as he tried and failed to find the words he was supposed to say. He twitched in place, breathing in through his nose as the scent of his one filtered through him, calming his nerves almost instantly. And while he wasn't exactly sure what to say about that, he couldn't deny that it wasn't unwelcome.

Because even now, awkward as it was, he was fighting the urge not to touch. Fighting not to dip back down and suck that red-bitten lip between his teeth and _pull. _Not to ruin him – soothe him – have him in every way possible as his eyes raked appreciatively over his strong chest and bunching arms. Admiring the way he could see where the sweat had made tracks through the dirt that seemed all but permanent across the shuddering jut of his navel. Hell, even preening as he caught the gleam of the marks he'd made with teeth, tongue and nail, ruddy and damning, in the half-dark of the room.

He got caught in the moment as Daryl's arms came up, hesitating for so long he swore the world had stopped spinning before the rough-shot zing of calloused fingers wrapped themselves around the curl of his hips. If he'd had any moisture left in his mouth he might have choked on it. Understanding the gesture for exactly what it was as a rush of warmth filtered through him, settling deep in his belly as he closed his eyes. Taking a moment to just _feel_ it as Daryl growled, low and soft in the back of his throat - more of a purr than anything – as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across the arc of his right hip.

He was about to say something then. Tongue teasing around the words. All too conscious of the dark eyes fixed on his face, watching his expression as the fingers on each hip slowly spread, making tracks down the curve of his ass. He let out a garbled sound when the pressure caused him to flex, grinding their erections together with a sinful fission of guilty pleasure before a burst of gunfire echoed from outside.

Daryl tensed, all jerking hips and hands that wrapped close around his middle as he yanked him down. Rolling them underneath one of the stainless steel counters as the hail of bullets pinging harmlessly off the metal sliding, so close that the suddenness of it was deafening. Crowding him up against the wall, chest to chest and protective as he crushed him close. On edge and breathing harshly as the gunshots and screams moved on. Almost as if a group of people had passed them by, mowing down walkers and god knows what else as they tried to regain control of the compound.

But rather than squirming out from underneath him. Rather than putting some distance between them and trying to salvage what was left of their clothes, he _deepened_ it. Molding himself into the curve as Daryl only held on all the tighter – instinctual and possessive and trying their best to ignore reality for just a few more minutes, knowing full well what was coming next.

He dug his face into the crook of the man's shoulder and just breathed. Wanting more than anything to just stay here. In this stupid kitchen for the rest of their lives and pretend everything that was happening outside didn't matter. To just have this, _them_ \- together. And not have to worry about all the complicated shit he knew was going to come part and parcel along with everything else.

"Christ," Daryl grunted, singular but weighty as he threw an arm over his eyes, chest rising and falling like bellows as he tried to catch his breath. Making a disgruntled sound when he regained enough sense to roll over and let him breathe in peace.

"You can say that again," he muttered, uneven breaths disturbing the dust bunnies. Not exactly sure what to say as he cracked a lid and surveyed the utter mess they'd made of the kitchen. There were pots and pans everywhere, even the jug of oil Daryl had snagged to ease the way had ended up on its side uncapped – oozing sluggishly across the worn concrete towards them like a thick, yellowish tide.

When he looked back he was unsurprised to see Daryl staring down at him – wondering and wary. Fingers twitching, hanging tense by his sides like even now, sated and exhausted, they still wanted to touch. His lip quirked, leaning into him unabashedly, soaking in the filthy warm of him before he let Daryl see the expression. Something in him settling as the lines around the man's mouth softened fractionally.

"What about Carol?" he asked quietly, turning so that his chest was half draped over him, protective and completely unrepentant as idle fingers traced the contours of a tattoo he'd only ever seen out of the corner of his eye.

_He might even ask him what it meant._

_Someday._

He could feel the tension color the air around their heads for a fraction of a second before it cleared, wisping away like fog on a mid-summer morning as Daryl let a tentative arm drape across the small of his back. Breathing out in increments as the comforting weight of it hooked him close. Holding him firm despite the evidence to the contrary which screamed that he was still unsure of his welcome.

"She'll understand."

The rest of the sentence remained unsaid, silent and heavy with justified regrets.

She would have to. Just like Maggie would have to. Like they_ all_ would have to.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he wrenched himself up, leaning back against his elbows. Only distantly aware of Daryl doing the same beside him. Wondering if he should even be surprised as he wrinkled his nose, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat – thick and acrid humid air.

_It wasn't like anything in the world ended up like you expected it to these days._

_Why should this be any different?_

Still, the gloom of it somehow seemed to lessen in importance when compared to the intertwining of fingers and mingling of stale breaths. Feeling the strength of his one shored up at his side as he squeezed the man's hand firmly.

Reality was waiting for them, impatient and awkward just outside the kitchen door. And call him a coward, but he didn't think he could face it - _face Maggie_. Maybe not ever. This felt too big, like too much too soon. And despite the fact that part of him was thrumming with it, with the newness of a fresh start – greedy and unwilling to share - he knew that not one moment of it was going to be easy.

Ironically enough – like reality coming full circle – it was Daryl that hefted him to his feet. Keeping a death grip on his hand as they swayed together, naked and shivering - bare skin coasting across bare skin.

"Hey," Daryl rasped, grubby finger coming down to raise the point of his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes as a half a dozen emotions – every one just as raw and uncertain as the last – got caught in the lines of his face. "Together?"

He almost laughed. Holding the relieved, and probably slightly hysterical sound back by the skin of his teeth. Swallowing hard as the honesty behind the offer shattered the hysteria that'd been steadily working its way through him. Splintering the brittle tint of fear and frustration in a way that just a few years ago, he would've bet his entire life savings someone like Daryl Dixon would've_ never_ been able to inspire in anyone, least of all him.

The message was clear.

_He wasn't alone._

_He'd never be alone again._

"Together," he agreed.

* * *

And if they stalled in the doorway, sweaty hands slip-sliding against the latch in favor of trading sloppy kisses and greedy hums of sound. Well, they were only human, after all.

Like it or leave it, things were different now. _Complicated._ Maybe even better. He supposed only time would tell. It was a shot in the dark, but together, he figured they'd make it.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.


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